EVA Sessions: The Great Game
by Gob Hobblin
Summary: In 1969, Second Impact devastated the Soviet Union and creating a nightmarish Zone of Seclusion. The Angels came forth from the Zone, and only the world's most massive nuclear strike stopped them. Fourteen years later, living weapons manned by children are the only defense, and the nations of the world continue to maneuver, to plot, and to plan...
1. Forward and Acknowledgments

In a way, I suppose it's appropriate to call these stories 'EVA Sessions,' because fan fiction is proving to be something of a nice, inexpensive therapy. Whenever you hit a wall, start a new story and see what happens.

Frankly, I've hit a wall in both my ficcing and personal lives (or more appropriately, personal _professional_ life). I'm supposed be writing a 1,200 word review on an historical journal (of which I have a quarter completed), but despite putting two-weeks into it and having it due tomorrow, I just can't write the damned thing. I have no clue why. It's just not clicking. I'll have it completed in time, of this I know: spinning impressive fluff is something I have developed from many a late-night cram session. Pressure has it's own rewards. The point is, I can't write the damned thing when I _want_ to. This leaves me feeling somewhat depressed.

And my other fics, which I love writing, have their valleys and plateaus. When I can write them, I write like a man possessed, and when I can't, I have to step back and leave them be. About the only one that I can cut into in a consistent manner is _You Can (Not) Trust_, due to having a marvelous beta-reader (Gemini011).

The bottom line is, I'm in a low point right now, and for some reason I can't take it out on the things I already have written. I can, however, start up a new fic, to try and let my brain ease up a bit and brush some of those cobwebs away.

Further, I want to apply some recent lessons on writing I've picked up, one from an excellent book and the other from a great discussion over at the EvaGeeks forums on the FanFic Recommendations page (the recent architect/gardener discussion, for those who participated or followed it).

The book is Stephen King's _On Writing,_ which should be mandatory reading for anyone wanting to write, or anyone who just enjoys the craft of _reading_ in general. It is a book written for book lovers by a book lover, and Mr. King's insights on story crafting are somehow both self-evident and monumental revelations at the same time.

As for the discussion, a few fanfic writers shared their experience and knowledge, and I really want to thank them for , I would like to thank the Grand Duke of Yashima and Muphrid for sharing their experience and knowledge (their posts on story-crafting are excellent little primers on story crafting) as well as Gregg Landsman (who kindly took the time to share his thoughts on _Nobody Dies _and the _Rebuild_: several of his posts also have good information on long-term story plotting and crafting).

In addition, I wanted to thank amitakartok for taking the time to look over my pitch for this story and offering his advice, as well as directing me to the excellent _Adeptus Evangelion_ RPG. And introducing me to the concept of Eva football. Because, let's face it: doesn't that sound like the greatest thing ever?

Finally, even though I've never done this before, I should add that _Neon Genesis Evangelion_ is not my work. Neither is _Muv-Luv Alternative: Total Eclipse_. The first few episodes or so provided an interesting setup in terms of a Cold War alien invasion, but I haven't been able to get into the rest of the series for many reasons. Also, I do not own _Roadside Picnic_ by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, nor do I own the film _Stalker_ and the video game series _S.T.A.L.K.E.R.,_ both based on _Roadside Picnic. _I mention this, because the Zone of Seclusion will be familiar to fans of any of the above works. It didn't start out that way (like them, I was thinking of Chernobyl, Long Island, and other disaster sites), but the parallels between what I was writing here and what these stories had became apparent to me. I don't know if the connection was unconscious, but there was one, so I had to mention it. This would be the first disclaimer I've written, and it would probably be a good habit to keep writing them.

Enough of that. You want fiction, right? So moving on...


	2. The Exile

It was called a reassignment, but Asuka knew that it was exile.

"They're being foolish if they think the March won't collapse without the Mark Two," she snapped.

"Germany has already agreed to the deployment of the Mark Five," Kaji replied. He had a patient, detached tone to his words, and Asuka bristled under it. She hated being patronized.

"How did they get the Soviets to agree to that?" she asked, scoffing. "There hasn't been a German military mission inside Soviet territory since the end of World War II."

"Extinction tends to focus one's attention sharply."

"Whose? Humanity's, or the Soviet's?"

"Take your pick."

"It didn't focus their attention enough to keep them from making that _stupid_ mistake," Asuka snapped. "I tried to tell them."

"You and everyone else. It doesn't matter: the Russians made their bed. They get to lie in it." Asuka glared at him, and said no more. The entire episode made her feel sick. She had killed a lot of Angels in her short life. She had been good at it. She enjoyed it, though she wouldn't admit that openly.

She had never killed humans before.

"Anyway, stop thinking about it," Kaji sighed. "Japan is nice. It's quite the location these days, what with Nerv Central and all of that."

"You just want to get home. This whole thing is like a joke to you."

"You know better than that."

"I do. That's why I said it." Kaji gave her a narrow glare.

"Just because you have a higher IQ than me, don't you start to assume it means you know me as well as I know you," he warned.

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Because you are a brilliant EVA Pilot with a very narrow focus. I am a handler trained to read people, and it just so happens that my specialty is in knowing, reading, and understanding _you_. It's safe to say you're in over your head at the moment."

Asuka dropped the point, and turned her glare to the window, looking outside at the Atlantic as it rolled away below her. They sat in First-Class, Pan-American Flight #2241, just an ordinary man and an ordinary girl on their way to the United States. No matter that there was no resemblance between the two, and they spoke more as equals than as a guardian and as a ward. No matter they had started their journey together in Turkey, after meeting at an American military base, though this was certainly not common knowledge to their fellow passengers. They should have been holding up a certain pretense, if just for appearances. At the moment, Asuka simply didn't have the patience for such underhanded dealings. She was jumpy, exhausted, and maybe...just maybe...a little bit frightened. Frightened of the future, frightened with the residual tremors of her ordeals in the past two weeks. Just frightened.

And now, what little patience she did have had just been shot out of the water. When Kaji spoke to her so frankly, it indicated that a particular topic of conversation was done. End of story. That was it. Asuka respected him enough not to continue needling him, but she didn't feel inclined to complain about anything else at the moment. So, she simply sat and seethed in her silence.

That being said, she really did want to talk about…something. Anything. When there was too much silence, she began to hear the voices again. Children's voices, shrieking, screaming. That was her fault, all that noise.

No. It wasn't her fault, but it _was_, and she hadn't determined whether she wanted to let it go or stew over it. She didn't feel guilty about it, but that didn't mean she wouldn't later. What galled her more was that, somehow, she knew that she was being made the scapegoat for someone's decision, somewhere. Either that entire…day…had been a terrible mistake or a deliberate choice, and someone somewhere somewhen had decided that she would be the one to pay for those events. She didn't know why, but she was smart enough to know that this was the case. It was easy for people to forget that she was just as smart as she said she was.

God in heaven, how that galled her.

She turned, and sharply elbowed Kaji's arm. He yelped loudly and a bit shrilly in the cabin, earning odd looks from a passing stewardess. "What the hell!?" he gasped, rubbing his arm.

"Well? What are you going to do about it?" she snapped. There had been no reason for her action, and she wasn't going to pretend there was. She simply felt the need for someone to suffer along with her.

"Nothing, what can I do about it? Smack you?" He rubbed his arm in protest. "Seriously, what was that about?"

"I'm angry, and you're an easy target," she grumbled.

"Well, don't do it again," he scolded. "We have a long couple of days until we get to Tokyo. I'm not above sedating you for however long it'll take."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Hit me again." Asuka glared at him, but didn't take the challenge. She had already been banished from where she had covered herself in glory, as much as she disliked the place. She had no intention of arriving to her destination of exile as a drooling, incoherent mess.

"Where's the Mark Two, do you think?" she wondered aloud, changing the subject.

"All over the map, aren't you?" Kaji said. "I imagine it's taking the short cut. By plane to the Black Sea, then south through the Bosphorus, towards the Suez. Down, and around the Subcontinent, and…assuming it doesn't get picked up by pirates…all the way to Japan."

"Your attempt at humor irritates me," she said. If the Mark Two was traveling by sea, it would do so at the heart of a massive, military convoy, complete with at least one carrier, one battleship, and a couple of cruisers and destroyers for escort. It would be one of the few times an American fleet would be allowed into the Black Sea, and she was certain that the Soviets were throwing as much red-tape at them as they could, if just to posture for a bit. They were mad, and they wanted to rub it in as much as they could. It would be the latest in a long line of provocations attached to Asuka specifically.

There had been that whole fiasco following That Day, but that in the end that was no more than posturing, too. The Soviets couldn't touch her, or the Mark Two, for long. To do so would invite the enmity of the rest of the world, and possibly instigate a war. That was a bad thing to do, when you're throwing everything in one direction already. She had known, as well, that she would be all right in the end. Still, that was a long week for her. A very long week.

"Stop that," Kaji said, and she glanced at him. He pointed at her arm. She looked down, and realized she had begun digging out pieces of her skin with her nails. It had become her stress habit in the past couple of days. Exasperated, she waved her hand and pressed the 'CALL' button. When the fresh-faced young stewardess answered it, Asuka requested some napkins to staunch the blood. After the white cloth exchanged hands and the wounds were covered, Kaji finally asked, "How long is this going to be a factor?"

"What? What is 'this?'"

"Stop being coy. This self-abuse. It's just picking, but when does it become more?"

"I was a prisoner of the Soviets for five days. How long do you think it's going to be a 'factor?'"

"That's not what you told your debrief team."

"What do you think I was going to tell? I had no interest at the time to start an incident. I wanted to leave."

"Fair enough, but you're putting up a big fuss over leaving."

"That's because this is a punishment, Kaji. You know that!"

"It's not…it's not punishment," he sighed. "_We_ don't see it as that. The Americans do not see this as punishing you."

"Simply because you say something is not a thing, does not make it something else."

"I have no idea what you just said."

"How many Angel attacks occur in Japan during the year?"

"What?"

"Is there a Japanese March? Is there a Corridor that leaves the Zone and bypasses all the other Marches?"

"No, of course not."

"There's nothing for me to _fight_ there, Kaji," Asuka said, pleading. "That's what I do. I'm good at that. I'm a fighter, and I am the best fighter of the First Generation Pilots. You've seen my record, you know that's a fact."

"I do, and I know that there is more to that than simply piloting the Mark Two," Kaji added. "That's also because very few of the First Generation Pilots are on the Marches right now. All the Nerv Countries have been stingy with their resources."

"I don't care about them, I care about _me_," she stated. "That may sound selfish, but it's a fact: I cannot be neutral about this. Kaji, they've taken my purpose away from me."

"You're being melodramatic."

"Stop patronizing me! How old was I when the Mark Two was deployed to the Urals?"

"You were seven," he said.

"And I'm thirteen now," she pleaded. "I've been fighting the Angels _my entire life_, as far as I care. And I was _good_ at it. I was the _best_."

"I know," Kaji agreed. "So good that you didn't have the nightmares the other Pilots have, because you could be assured that your Eva was stronger, or your talent better. You didn't have to worry about your AT Field collapsing, or being boiled alive in your Plug, or being crushed, or ripped to pieces, or—"

"Stop trying to guilt me, you know I had as much a risk of dying as anyone out there."

"You didn't," Kaji said. "But I won't argue the point. And I won't try to change it again. You're right, you've been…pulled out by the roots. And this is going to sound mean, and I'm sorry for that…but deal with it. This is how life works, you take your lumps and you move on. Did you think you'd spend all of your life at Ural Central Post?"

"I figured I would stay there until the job was done," she protested.

"And when would it be done? We don't have the resources to mount an invasion of the Zone. All we can do is stop the freaks that come wandering out. The job will probably never be done, and as it stands, there are other places that need Evas. You can't Pilot forever, so maybe some downtime will be good for you. Let you unwind a bit, help them in Eva development. Train some new blood. That sort of thing."

"Really? Is _that_ what we're doing in Japan?"

"…Well, I mean…."

"You don't _know_ why I've been reassigned, short of 'Go to Japan.' So, don't _you_ go and make assumptions if _I'm_ not allowed to." She grumbled, and crossed her arms. She wanted to elbow him again on principle, but the specter of sedation hung over her head, so she instead tried to go to sleep.

The attempt failed.

* * *

The longest stop they enjoyed was in Los Angeles, waiting four hours for their connecting flight to Hawaii, then on to Japan. It was an awkward and uncomfortable time, which seemed to emphasize to Asuka how behind the times she was. That was fair, considering she had just come from a six-year tour-of-duty fighting cosmic horrors in the middle of the still-living corpse of the Worker's Paradise. Being someone as intelligent as she was, however, the failure to keep pace with changes irritated her. She didn't like _not_ knowing things, and as soon as she stepped off the plane, her ignorance was jammed in her face every step.

In truth, though, it started with the school girls.

Kaji was in the restroom, and Asuka was leaning against a wall scowling as a group of the vapid, airy things seemed to materialize out of nowhere around her. They didn't even register her presence, barely acknowledged she was there, but that was small comfort to Asuka. They were thunderous and grating things. They were screechy, noisy, _insistent_ creatures. They were all giggles and rapid chatter and squeaks and squawks and noise upon noise upon noise. She resisted the urge to cover her ears, and simply watched them all. They were dressed in matching school uniforms, with plaid skirts, knee-high socks, black-and-white shoes, and wool shawls. They must have been going to or returning from a class trip. She managed to pick up little snippets of their conversations, things about boys and girls they didn't like, or fashion. Celebrities. Gossip. School. Jibber-jabber-jaw jaw jaw.

Trivial things. Good God, was this what children her age talked about?

As suddenly as they appeared, they were gone, bubbling down the concourse to somewhere else. She stared after them, catching a whiff of perfume in the air. She sniffed at it like a terrier for a moment, then shook her head. She didn't wear perfume, hadn't for as long as she could remember. She wasn't a vain girl, and had never made an effort to _be_ vain. She was particular about her appearance to a point, she supposed: it was all part of responding to problems in proactive manners. When she had her first zit, she took it as a sign to put some effort into skin care. When her hair became frayed, she put effort into maintaining it beyond cutting it. Cutting it would have been too far, the last severed link to a childhood that seemed very far away. Still, she hardly styled it or anything.

All of those girls had different hairstyles. A veritable garden of bobs, curls, perms, colors, ribbons and bows and barrettes. The perfume lingered. Even now, in her mind's eye, Asuka could see the little baubles and bangles they had accrued around their uniforms, watches and bracelets and jewelry. All the little assorted jujus of fashion and 'girliness,' whatever that was. Asuka pondered on that for a moment. She knew nothing about these things.

She didn't care about them, for they had no intrinsic importance to her. They were meaningless things, but it aggravated her that she didn't _know_ about them. Even trivial knowledge was knowledge. It galled her when confronted with something that she knew nothing about. She hated ignorance, and could not abide the ignorant. She did not like being in that crowd.

The next blow to her pride came when Kaji finally exited the rest-room and the two of them walked side-by-side to the food court. They passed a kiosk with what Asuka thought were large calculators, but a second-look told her they were, in fact, phones. Phones with small computers in them.

"What is that?" she demanded, pointing at the Kiosk while looking at Kaji with an expression that could only be described as despairing. He glanced at the kiosk.

"Looks like this year's PDAs," he said. She looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Personal…Data Assistants. They've been around for three years now. Look, I've got one." He pulled one from his coat pocket, and she recoiled as if betrayed.

"You had that all this time and said nothing about it?" she demanded.

"I thought you knew about them."

"No, there's…_nothing_ like that at the Post!"

"Odd. Must be some weird rule the Soviets have in place," Kaji mumbled. "These things are great. I can use it like a phone, a calculator. Check this out, I can send and receive typed messages, I can actually _read word documents_. This is a pretty slick device." Asuka stared at it like Kaji held a small sun in his hands. He shook his head. "Asuka, you pilot a two-hundred meter tall cyborg, don't tell me this is fascinating to you."

"Look at these things!" she railed, jerking a thumb towards the kiosk. The pudgy salesman manning it moved between her and the PDAs a little protectively, somewhat irked by her outburst. "Do you think that there's _anything_ like that in Russia? This sounds like an amazingly versatile tool."

"Again…cyborg. You Pilot a—"

"Stop using that like it's relevant!" Asuka insisted. It was a small thing, this revelation, but it spoke of technological changes in the world at large. Technological changes that heralded sociological shifts, economic adjustments, a whole galaxy of new things. New things that she knew nothing about. She slumped at the realization, and stared at the floor, feeling defeated.

Kaji waited patiently, studying her miserable posture. "Do you or do you not want me to feed you before we leave?"

"…I'm not hungry."

"I bet you're thirsty. Coffee? American coffee, that's not instant made?"

"…Maybe."

"That's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes," she whined. "Just…let's go." She stormed ahead, feeling uneasy and out-of-place. Shouldn't she be happy to be back home? To be in the States?

No, not really. Home was ten years ago. The world had changed, and she had not.

They stopped at the food court and made an order for coffee. After finding a table, Kaji said he was going to run by a newsstand for a paper. The coffee was paid for, so all she had to do was hold the table. She made a sarcastic comment about her doubt as to whether or not she was was capable of the task or not, but did no more than that. In time, a young waiter stopped by, depositing two cups, some cream, and a small pitcher of milk.

"And where are you traveling, young lady?" the waiter asked, trying to be friendly. Asuka glared at him.

"Do you ask all your customers that, or just the 'young ladies?'"

The waiter jerked in surprise. Something in the tone and the phrasing of the question caught him off guard. The girl in front of him certainly _looked_ young, and her voice sounded young, but the way she was sitting and now the way she talked, he wondered if he was instead speaking to a dwarf or a stunted adult. "I didn't mean to be rude," he stammered. He was flustered that he may have been rude, but he was also irritated on the possibility that this _was_ a girl, and she was being disrespectful. That depended, of course, on whether he was talking to a child…and he wasn't sure at the moment.

"Really? Then how would you ask that question in a way that's not rude?" she demanded.

"I…don't know?"

"Is that a question? Are you asking me if you don't know, or are you telling me?"

"…Would you like a pastry with the coffee?"

"If I wanted a pastry, I would have ordered one at the register, wouldn't I?" It was about that moment when Kaji returned with a newspaper. The waiter looked at him with an expression of open pleading. Asuka turned her gaze away from the man. "The coffee's here," she said. There was really nothing to do about salvaging the situation, so Kaji simply waved the befuddled man away as he sat down. With something very much like gratitude, the waiter scurried off.

"That was rude," Kaji said, but quickly added, "but I know you don't care about that, so can I at least ask you not to terrorize any more adults on the way over? Or…anyone, for that matter?"

"I make no such promises," she said, pouring milk into her cup until the black coffee turned muddy brown, then caramel colored, then a cream color.

"I will extend the parameters for sedation if I need to," Kaji warned, popping the paper open. He just settled his eyes on the first headline when a tiny hand came over the top and snatched the paper away in a frenzy of rustling. He sat motionless, probing his teeth with his tongue as he still gripped the two scraps of newsprint that had once been attached to the front-page.

"Read the sports," she grumbled. "I have catching up to do." For a moment, Kaji did nothing. Then, he reached over, snatched the paper away from Asuka, and tore it up, slowly and deliberately before dropping the pieces on the floor in front of her. She glared at him, and crossed her arms. He crossed his arms in turn, daring her to do something about it. "That was petty," she grumped.

"Here. Read the funny-pages," he said. "Kids your age all read the funnies."

"I will do no such thing," she hissed. Kaji pulled out the comics section, and dangled it in front of her, insistent. Bouncing one of her feet in agitation, she snatched the paper. "I'll read it, but I refuse to like it," she hissed, hunching down behind them. Smiling, Kaji opened the sports page, and the two of them read in silence, killing time before their next flight.

The coffee was quite good.


	3. Considerations

The life of an intelligence analysis was one of ups, downs, ins, outs, and transmutations knowable only to those practitioners of the most arcane of occultic arts. Its forward momentum, rapid regressions, and constant, bewildering shifts in content, vocabulary, length and even type-print were things that had no pattern or reason beyond whoever at whenever decreed that such changes were to be made.

Percy Wall was, at the moment, trying to deduce what shape those changes would take. Knowing Sheldon Budd (Shelley to his friends and immediate subordinates), there was really no telling. Probably something to do with length: Shelley liked his analysis articles short, brief, and to-the-point. He said it was for brevity's sake, for the purpose of getting the most information out quickly, and there was some truth to that. Percy had known Shelley long enough to know that it was also that Shelley was not a very sharp crayon in a very big box of much sharper writing implements. As far as most desk chiefs went, he was all right, but he was what he was: he was a bureaucrat, and he suffered from all of the bureaucrat's vices and very few virtues.

"I don't get it," he finally grumped, sliding the paper over. "What's the point?"

"The point?" Percy spread his hands. "Shelley, this is the Man."

"Huh?"

"This is the Man. You know? The Guy, the Dude, Him What Walks in Ways Mysterious and Dangerous? When they talk about 'them,' _this_ is the guy they refer to."

"Lor…Lorenz?" He stammered as he shifted in his chair, not out of nervousness but befuddlement. Percy knew that there were two ways to get a brief past Shelley: make it simple, or keep throwing words at him until he gave up and passed it along, for fear of being thought dull-witted. Right now, Percy was leaning more towards 'wordy' than 'laconic,' but he was still on the fence.

"Yeah. Kihl Lorenz. I would bet hard silver-dollars that he's the reason we're moving the Mark Two."

Shelley glanced down over the paper, squinting. "He's a German, right? Lorenz doesn't sound German."

"It is Ger…would you like me to go into the etymology of the name 'Lorenz?' I can do that right now."

"No, I'd rather you didn't. Just sum this up for me, okay? Why do I need to pass this along?"

Percy leaned back. "In 1969, we have Second Impact, right? Right smack dab in the middle of the Central Siberian Plateau. And things get bad. The Soviets start pulling in all their military units, they leave the Warsaw Pact. And what happens in 1971?"

"You skipped over the nuclear strike and all…"

"It's irrelevant to the point, come _on_, Shelley."

The older man spread his hands. "The _Wiedervereinigung_." Percy suppressed a wince. Shelley's accent left a lot to be desired, but at least he had gotten the gist of the word correct.

"Yeah, the Reunification," he translated, trying to steer Shelley back onto topic and away from any more forays into foreign languages he wasn't trained in. "West Germany gobbles up the GDR and the East is no more. We have one nice, big happy German family again, and the Soviets can't do squat about it."

Something about that sentence got the wheels turning in Shelley's head, and he leaned forward. "We're still trying to understand how that happened. There were uprisings all over the Pact when the Soviets pulled out. The only stable country in there _was_ East Germany."

"That's right, and what's more, the Reunification was painless, peaceful, almost planned. And to this day, none of the names involved on the West German or East German side are entirely clear how that happened."

"Just careful management, right?" Shelley ventured, though not very seriously. "Good diplomacy at the right time, the right move, all of that." His tone implied that he thought otherwise.

"No way, not that simple," Percy said, confirming the doubt. "The folks who were running the GDR at the time were Party hardliners. The Soviets had very little patience for the possibility of another Eastward invasion, and they wanted to be sure that their buffer state was strong, loyal, reliable. What's more, if they felt they needed to push West, they wanted a beachhead that would be a bulwark. East Germany was their crown jewel, and it just rolled over and begged."

Shelley glanced at the paper. "You're saying Lorenz had something to do with it."

"He was a Colonel in the Stasi," Percy said, "where he specialized in Counterintelligence. Real scary fellow, with a very vague record but a big fruit salad on his uniform. Now, there are two ways to earn all those awards in the Communist Bloc: be politically connected, or be really damned good at what you do."

"Which one was he?"

"Both. It's all there in the report." Percy leaned back. "Richard, Melissa, and myself all went through hundreds of documents on this guy, and all of them were vague little snippets, but the kicker was the Mustermann interview."

"I have no clue what that is."

"No one does. It's one of those little bits of intelligence detritus that floats to the surface on occasion. We found one transcript of the interviews, and were able to track down about five more separate interviews."

"Who's Max Mustermann?"

"A figment, in a way. 'Max Mustermann' is the German equivalent of 'John Doe,' but this guy made contact with one of our agents in Switzerland. They met a total of seven times, and the interviews were part of that. They just worked their way through the system, and here they stand now."

"So how do we know that they're reliable?"

"Herr Mustermann contacted our agent using his own call-in code."

Shelley blinked. "Jesus Christ."

"There were some other little Shibboleths thrown in there, but we believe that Mustermann is a highly placed official within the German intelligence service. He says in the first interview that he considers this a friendly bit of advice from an allied agency."

"And all these interviews were about this Lorenz geezer?"

"This guy goes from being a Stasi Colonel to one of the most trusted consultants in the German government. And I say consultant, because apparently he has no real, actual position. No rank, no commissions, nothing. Once we start looking for this guy, though, he's everywhere. With the German President, at key conferences and dinners, all over the place. We think he's even published papers and articles, but if he has, they were under a pseudonym. The point is, this guy somehow goes from an obscure Colonel in an enemy government to a top-dog in the reborn Germany."

Even Shelley could draw the lines there. "So he probably helped grease the wheels of the Reunification."

"Hell, he probably _was_ the Reunification, if half the things in those interviews are to be believed. He apparently has a talent for reading people, and making them do what he desires. Add to that he's a narcissist and possibly a sociopath, and there you have it. Of course, that's _Mustermann's_ opinion, so take of that what you will."

"And this all adds up to...what?"

"A very dangerous fellow in a very important country. I mean, don't you think it's odd that Germany, of all places, got an Evangelion?"

"Now that you mention it…."

"I mean, come on, Shelley," Percy said, pressing the point. "They're strong, but not _that_ strong. They've just absorbed a repressive and economically stagnant rump state. If anything the Mark Five should have gone to the UK or France."

"I get it, I get it. And now that you've brought up the Evas, I want to get back to your original point. What makes you think that he had something to do with the Mark Two getting pulled? That was Russian idiocy, right there."

"Russian pride, not Russian idiocy, though I won't argue the point. The Mark Five is being deployed from Brandenburg to the Ural March, it's all but been announced. If this goes through, this is the first German military mission into Russia since the end of the War, Shelley. At least, the first German mission that isn't wrapped up in a 'People's Democratic' moniker."

Shelley closed his eyes, and Percy knew that he was winning the argument. He had pushed the right buttons, and Shelley was connecting the dots on his own, now. "You think that he had something to do with this. Explain why that matters."

"That's the point: if he did do have something to do with this, why? What's the purpose? What does he win?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Exactly. Come on, Shelley, this brief doesn't answer questions but raises a whole bunch of them. It is _begging_ for resources to watch this guy and figure him out, and I think we need to. It's all well and good to survey our known enemies, but what about him? What about the enemies _inside_ the gate?"

"This sounds like paranoia, Percy."

"God damn it, Shelley, paranoia is our _job_."

Shelley sighed. "_Shrink_ the article by…two pages, at least. Get to the point on this fast and clean." Percy sagged a bit, realizing he wasn't going to push this through so easy. "Do that, and I will personally walk this into the bureau chief's office and camp there until he takes it to _his_ boss. Fair enough?"

"So I convinced you?"

"No, but you've _interested_ me, and that's good enough. I bet this was all to get off of that article on the economic impact of the drop in Russian grain shipments to Syria." Shelley's eyes twinkled, and Percy scoffed. He tried to say something, raised his hands…and then laughed.

"I would _really _like to be off of that article, yes," he admitted, "but Melissa had a hunch on this, asked me to follow it up…."

"Because you have a nose for these things, I know." Shelley ran his fingers through his receding hair. "Keep up the research on that topic, but expect to hand it off. If this goes through, I want the three of you following it. Bob or…if it gets that far, Leonard…will probably want their own eggheads sifting through this stuff, but if we keep you attached to it, you have a better chance of being the team that continues the research. Fair enough?"

"You're a prince among men, Shelley," Percy said.

"Remember that. Now, scram, bring me something shorter."

* * *

The northern wall of the meeting room was dominated by a map of Siberia. In the center, like a big, soppy sore, was a red splotch that cut over the Central Siberian Plateau, down into Mongolia, skirting the edges of Manchuria, touching on the Arctic ocean and drifting off unevenly into the great steppes that dominated all east of the Urals. Extending out from the very center of the wound, like malignant, infected arteries, were four black lines. One pressed towards the center of the Ural March, one petered southwest and into the Kazakh March, a third straight south into Mongolia towards the Gobi March, and a final one pushed east towards the Verkhoyansk March.

"The Chinese don't like sharing information, of course, but they've indicated that it looks like a fifth corridor is opening here," a voice said. The map winked, and a fifth, black line appeared, cutting through the Stanovoy Range and towards the Manchurian flats. "They've not said anything to us, but we expect that they may be opening a new March soon."

"Do they have sufficient units to handle any Choirs?"

"Most of China's Second Generational Units are located in the Gobi March," the first voice explained. "They will not move them, nor will they redeploy the Mark Nine from there. The Mark Ten remains in Beijing, and they are extremely reluctant to mobilize it."

That earned an uncomfortable murmur. "That doesn't seem like something Xiaoping would do," a third voice said. "I thought he was smarter than that."

"He is," a fourth voice cut in, "Which is why he can't deploy it. He's been getting some push-back within his own government."

"Another Gang of Four?"

"More like Gang of Three. We think that there are three power players within the Central Military Commission, the Ministry of Finance, and the CPC's Central Organization Department that are pooling their influence together. We don't know who, yet: you know how dense that stuff can be. What we do know is that the Chairman seems to be moving less willfully than he did when he started his term."

"That's bad."

"Third and Fourth Generation Evangelions are being mobilized, we can see that with our own eyes. The question is whether or not they can handle continuous Choirs."

That brought a long, thoughtful silence. "Have they requested the Mark One?"

"No, and it's doubtful they will."

"Who else will they ask? The Americans?"

"The Mark Two will be arriving in three weeks," someone pointed out. "The Mark Three is still on standby in Nevada. No one else has requested it, and the Americans won't deploy it unless asked."

"Would they, even then?"

There was a laugh. "Probably not. Their Second Generational Evangelions are among the best in the world, thanks to the Mark Two and Three. I'm surprised they deployed the former over the latter, frankly."

"That was a decision made under a different President," someone observed.

"Gentlemen, if we can return to the topic of discussion." Someone stood and marched to the front of the room, and it was clear from the voice and the rank that it was Gen. Hideyori Tomo. "If there is a new March opening, and a new corridor, how long before a sixth? Or a _seventh_? And more to the point, this is one that points in _our_ direction."

"Unless the Chinese invite us, there's nothing we _can_ do. We are forbidden from deploying on our own."

"That may not be an issue," Tomo sighed. "The Diet is considering revoking that aspect of the Constitution." That brought a sharp gasp from the room. "I just heard about it myself. Nothing may come of it, but anticipate orders to build and push a deployable force. Be ready for that, gentlemen." He pointed at the map. "If the Chinese cannot hold Manchuria, and it collapses, we may have to take matters into our own hands."

"And if the Chinese…retaliate?"

"They probably will…_if_ it comes to that. There's a lot of 'ifs' in this whole discussion. So…_if_ things go pear-shaped, let's assume that cooler heads will prevail. In the meantime, we need to focus on what we have in front of us," Tomo said. He shifted on his feet. "Is there anything else on our agenda?"

"Director Ikari of the Science Bureau has reported that a new weapon is in the works, something along the lines of a..." there was a rustling of papers, "...a _mini_-Eva, more of a support unit than anything else. He said that it would allow us to instantly deploy, build, and sustain infrastructure without placing a rigorous demand on resources or personnel."

"What is it?"

"He hasn't said as of yet. It's in the early stages, and it sounds like he wants to give us a good demonstration when he announces it."

"Of course," Tomo murmured. "All right. We'll leave that, for now. Gen. Kaeda, tell me about our operational Second Generational Units…."

* * *

The boy sipped his tea cautiously, staring out over the ocean. Okinawa was quiet at this time of year, and it was an ideal place to escape for a few days.

"Would you like anything else?" the girl asked. The boy pondered the question, decided the tea was fine.

"No, Rei," he said.

"Are you sure?" He felt a little impatient at her insistence, and turned to regard her. She stood calmly at the side, hands folded and attentive. Her expression and tone appeared relaxed, but they seemed…pleading to the boy. Insistent. Hyper-attentive.

"If you would like," he said, "You can check the perimeter and our security setup."

"Of course, Shinji-sama," she agreed, and disappeared about her business. The boy worked his fingers for a moment, feeling a strange rush of tension, then turned back towards the sea. Normally, he paid Rei little to no mind, no more than he would his right hand or left foot. When they were alone, though, especially outside of Tokyo, it became harder _not_ to notice her, and this was not always a good thing. There was a subtle, wheedling demand under her assistance, almost a whining or pleading. No one else would have observed this, of course. The girl was perfect in her bland tone, her serenity, her ability to go _unnoticed_, in spite of her unique appearance.

Shinji noticed, though. He had grown up with her, after all. He noticed everything.

He closed his eyes, and reclined in the chair. It was unfair of him, he supposed, to be mean about it. The girl was merely performing her function, as he was performing his. He was the selected Pilot for the Mark One: his purpose was to Pilot. Hers was to protect, maintain, assist. Ensure that he continued Piloting. It was her function, a compulsion.

"And henpeck me with devoted attention," he mumbled, to no one in particular. He sipped his tea. Truth be told, he admitted, he was probably just taking his irritation out on her.

It was an irritation that built up for the last three days. His father had dropped a bombshell in Shinji's lap, and the boy was still trying to process it, figure how to fit it into his scheme of things.

"The Americans are sending one of their Evas here," Gendo Ikari had said. They were in his office, and Gendo was standing next to the window. In either hand, he had a sheaf of papers, and he was bouncing from one set to the other, absorbing both at the same time.

"Are they?" Shinji had asked, standing with his hands folded in front of him. Behind him, near the door, Rei was in her customary place, watching both of them and seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

"Yes, the Mark Two."

"A First Generational?" There was a sharp tone to Shinji's words.

"Is that a problem?"

"Is it?" Shinji slowly crossed the office, bringing himself into his father's field of view. "Who's the Pilot?"

"A girl named Asuka Langley Soryu. I think you two met a long time ago…redhead. Blue eyes. Do you remember her?"

Shinji rocked on his heels. "Yes. We got along swimmingly."

"You did?"

"Of course not. She was insufferable and stubborn."

"You're one to talk," Gendo replied. He placed the two sheaves together, and studied Shinji. "When was the last time you associated with any Pilots?"

"You and me both agreed that was not in our best interests," Shinji said. What he was really saying by that, of course, was _his_ best interests. There was certain, quantifiable drop in the intelligence and maturity of Evangelion Pilots based upon their Generational Unit. Second Generational Children were bright, far brighter than other group of children their age, and certainly a lot more on the ball than Third Generational Children. And all of them, of course, were well above the curve on the uninitiated, the greater mass of human children that went about doing their childish things, in their childish ways. That being said, none of them were on Shinji's level…or any other First Generational Child's level, for that matter. Those Children were picked to pilot the First Twelve Evas for a reason, and intelligence was one of those factors. One among many.

That being said, Shinji did not get along well with other Japanese Pilots. He had little patience for them, and they simply disliked him. Their mutual disdain would have been bad overall, so it was simply best not to associate with them. At all.

His father, of course, recognized that. "It's not, and nor will it be. I merely wished to highlight the hypocrisy of your statement." Gendo tapped his glasses. "The mote in the eye, son."

"So what does this mean? In the long run?"

Gendo shrugged. "It means we'll have a First Generational Evangelion to work with alongside the Mark One. What do you think it means?"

"A deployment?" Shinji leaned forward, almost eager. "A chance to actually put the Mark One through its paces?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. The girl is being punished, you should know."

"Punished?"

"The details are unclear, but she seems to be responsible for the destruction of a few Third Generational Evas and their Pilots. Maybe a even a few Second Generational Units."

That surprised him. "That seems like quite the slip-up."

"I imagine she's taking the ax for someone else's mistake. Either way, don't anticipate a deployment."

That irked Shinji. For the last three years, his goal was to get the Mark One deployed somewhere…_anywhere. _That mission was not shaping up very well. He knew it was the strongest Eva in the world. Everyone knew that: it was the standard by which the others were judged, the first of the Evas crafted from the tissues of the Provisional Unit, itself the first of all Evangelions ever created. That meant buck-all without a combat record, though, and it was something the Mark One desperately needed. For Shinji's goals. For his father's.

For humanity's, really.

"When she gets here, I expect you to play nice," his father was saying. "Try to get along with her. In the end, it's irrelevant if it's the Mark Two or the Mark Twelve, it's a First Generational, and she'll be the next smartest Pilot in the country aside from you." His father scratched his cheek, considering something. "Actually, let me be frank: she will be _the_ smartest Pilot in the country, assuming her statistics and record are not inflated."

"How comforting," Shinji said. The tone was flat, the eyes glassy. He felt a strange resentment building towards the girl already, and he knew, he _knew_, it was simply the sensation of having another rooster pecking around his barn-yard. It was an irrational irritation, but by God, he was irritated. Especially if a deployment appeared.

The Mark Two would, of course, be the first to go. The Mark One would sit and molder.

"The perimeter is secured," a gentle voice said, "And the security systems are operating at peak efficiency." He opened his eyes, and he was back in Okinawa, back in the private residence. He glanced at Rei. She stood passively at his side.

"Don't you ever take a day off?" he grumbled.

"Why would I?" she asked, genuinely confused by the question.

"Between the security system, and the suits outside, and our general isolation…and the fact that I am currently about as useful as a wart on an elbow, who could _possibly_ hurt me?"

"…Supposing you need your tea refilled?" she asked. He glared at her, trying to determine if she was mocking him or not. Her expression was, as always, earnest and open. He closed his eyes.

"You should sit down, Rei. Relax a bit. Take a load off." He reclined in the chair. "Things are going to get busy for us, very busy. We need to be on our toes when the American girl gets here."

"Technically, she's half-Japanese," Rei said.

"Hmm?"

"Her mother was Japanese. Her father is a German-American with dual citizenship."

"Does Asuka have dual citizenship?" He didn't know why, but he was suddenly curious.

"No, she does not," Rei noted. "Is there anything else you would like to know about her?"

"You have her whole file committed to memory, don't you?"

"Of course, Shinji-sama." He heard a shuffling motion behind him, heard tea being poured into his cup, despite his not asking for it. He let out a bemused sigh of resignation.

"Please, just take a seat and relax for a bit. Having you hovering around me is simply taking all the fun out of being lazy," he hissed.

"It's no trouble…."

"Fine, it's an order. I am ordering you to relax with me." There was no response for a moment, and he wondered idly what she was doing. He resisted the temptation to look, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed. He heard a shuffle, felt a breeze pass him, and the sound of someone sitting down in the chair next to him. "Thank you," he said.

"You're…welcome," the girl said. For a time, neither of them said anything. The surf kissing the shoreline was the only sound in the room. The gentle, rolling hiss of water against rocks, hypnotic, soothing...

"This is nice, isn't it?" the girl said.

"Yes, very nice," Shinji agreed distractedly, and sipped his tea. The American girl would be here soon. The American girl, with all the uncertainties that would bring with her.

He despised uncertainty.

Unknown to him, the girl sat primly in her chair, not reclining but more relaxed then she had been. She studied him closely, his face and his hair and the shape of his hands as they slowly rotated his tea-cup. She studied him and took in the details, filing them away in a part of her mind that was hers alone, no one else's. It was a rare gift that she gave to herself.

Yes, she thought. He was right: this was very nice. She continued to study him as the ocean hissed outside, a soothing babble of empty noise.


	4. Grazer

Asuka opened her eyes as the plane touched down. She believed she had been sleeping, but it was hard to tell. She thought she could smell the scent of boiling flesh, but she knew that this was something in her mind. There was no boiling flesh. There was no bursting organs, bubbling viscera, shrieking and sobbing and screaming. There was just the plane, the runway, and her. She turned and looked at Kaji, who hadn't woken up despite the bump of the landing gear against the tarmac. A thin fuzz of drool had collected at the corner of his mouth, which reminded her to check her cheek. Sure as sure, she had drooled a bit as she slept. It was nice to have the foibles of others as a reminder.

It was nice that the most she could worry about at the moment was a bit of errant saliva. She rubbed her eyes and looked out of the window. Tokyo in the winter was dreary, and white, and no less busy than it was at any other time of year. At least, she assumed it was no less busy. Looking at the sheer number of aircraft parked at the terminal, she had to assume that was the case. Busy, busy, busy.

It made sense, of course, considering that Tokyo was home to the Nerv Pact's headquarters. It was the first stop away from mainland Asia, the last stop on the way in, and currently swelling under a refugee population that the Japanese government was discreetly, politely, and insistently trying to foist off onto other countries, Australia and the United States especially. That was a rather dunderheaded policy to her, but what did she know? She was just a Pilot. And despite her parentage, she wasn't Japanese. Not even remotely. What did it matter her opinions on Japanese national decisions?

Though, technically, she wasn't even American, despite being a citizen. She was Asuka, and she Piloted the Mark Two, and that was that. She was a country unto herself. What business did she have telling other countries what they should do with their domestic and foreign policies?

Still, she could call it like she saw it. And ever so occasionally, she could see the pieces and make a deduction. A decision with an outcome that would more often than not be correct, or at least manageable. Half of the time, it wasn't so much about choosing the correct course as it was choosing the workable course. The one with the least consequences, most benefits, and the most realistic scheme of implementation. She turned and jabbed Kaji in the cheek with her thumb. He squirmed awake, punching the chair in front of him and earning a small curse of frustration from its occupant. He assessed his surroundings, turned, and stared at Asuka.

"What do you think about the refugee situation?" she asked.

"…It's not too late to sedate you," he said quickly.

"We're pulling up to the gate."

"My point still stands." He continued to stare at her, and she stared back. "What about what refugee situation?"

"The refugee population in Japan."

"I have…no idea how to…why are you asking?"

"I was thinking about it," she said, as the pilot began speaking over the intercom. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, thank you for setting my mind at ease," Kaji murmured. Eventually, the lights came up, and the passengers began to stand and exit. Kaji led Asuka down the aisle, gave his polite thanks to the flight crew, and headed on into the terminal. Asuka followed closely at pace, matching his long-legged stride with short, sharp, measured steps of her own. They passed some of the slower passengers, and entered the busy throng of the airport. They got the number of their flight's baggage carousel, and continued on their way.

As they walked, Asuka's head began to throb. There was too many people. Too many people, too many voices. The wonder of it had begun to leave in Turkey, had become dull and faded in the United States, and now it was simply oppressive. It was far too oppressive, and she found herself pushing closer and closer to Kaji until she bumped into him with a gasp. He turned and looked at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She swallowed, and a little glassy-eyed, nodded. He smiled, a genuine and honest smile. "Not too much longer, okay?"

"Fine," she agreed, nodding a bit more firmly. She was out of her element. It scared her.

* * *

They retrieved their bags without too much fuss, and headed to the departure area. It was choked with civilian vehicles, small and large buses, taxis, so many vehicles. So many models, so many colors, so many voices. She trembled from the sensory overload.

After a few seconds on the sidewalk, Kaji said, "Oh, that's us." She followed his dismissive gesture, and she saw a woman roughly Kaji's age standing in front of a blue four-door and holding a homemade sign high over her head. On it, in black ink on a crisp, white background, were the characters for BAKA. In order to ensure there was no misunderstanding, Romanji characters spelled out the word in English just below. The woman was quite pretty, but her expression was bland and empty. Maybe even a little threatening.

Kaji dragged his suitcase along behind him. "Hello, Misato," he said, smiling.

"Kaji," the woman replied, her tone both sultry and icy at the same time. It produced a remarkable effect. "Hi. Long time, no see. No calls. Or letters. Not even a carrier pigeon."

"It is…_so_ nice to see you."

"Uh-huh."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"…No hard feelings."

"Oh, no. None at all. Forgiven and forgotten." As she spoke, she began to tear the sign in half, punctuating her words. Asuka studied the woman, then glanced back at Kaji. She coughed. Misato turned her eyes to the girl, and smiled. It was like one person had left and another arrived, the change was so stark. "You must be Asuka. I'm Misato Katsuragi, it's a pleasure to meet you." She bowed.

For a moment, Asuka's right hand jerked, the automatic desire to extend her hand and offer a handshake. The tremble passed, and she reciprocated the bow. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you, too." She wished that could sound more convincing. It didn't.

The woman picked up on it, and was surprisingly gracious. More to the point, she seemed to understand part of the discomfort. "You sound exhausted. You must have the worst jet lag of all time." She turned to Kaji. "Did you guys have any stops between here and Russia?"

"None longer than changing one flight for another."

Misato shook her head. "Why not travel by way of India? Wouldn't that have been quicker?"

"It would have, which is why I bought tickets to Bombay," Kaji said, circling to the car's trunk. "And that's where anyone following us would go."

"Of course. You _deliberately_ took the long way. The ways in which the Great Ryoji Kaji's mind works," Misato said, unlocking the trunk.

"It wasn't entirely his idea," Asuka said. "The exit route we took was one of five preplanned ones. I picked it, in the end."

"And who were you supposed to be hiding from?" Misato asked, wearily opening the driver side door as Kaji opened a rear passenger door for Asuka. "The KGB?"

"Who knows?" Kaji said. "I make no assumptions."

"So why not travel by military transport?" Misato insisted. Kaji gave her a withering look.

"This was already discussed. There was an entire ops plan. Do you not remember the ops plan? The reason for why this route was picked, as well as this method of travel? My understanding was that everyone involved in the key points of this journey had been briefed."

"I'll be frank: I saw your name as one of the key planners, and I just stopped reading." Kaji seemed lost between words at that.

"Really? Are you serious?" he managed.

Misato gave him a chilling look. "Of course not. Can't you tell I'm joking?"

* * *

About ten minutes into the drive, Kaji had given up being polite, and the conversation between him and Misato had turned into a low-level simmering brew of verbal jabs. For the most part, Asuka tuned them out, watching the dusted city outside. In time, the cityscape faded as she picked through the inner recesses of her brain.

Misato Katsuragi. She knew the name: that would be the Ops Director for the Mark One. One of the most prestigious positions in the Evangelion community, and probably one of the most dead-end ones as well. It was a strange post of responsibility: to be in charge of the field operations of the most powerful Eva ever constructed…and the only one that had never been deployed. Quite the contradiction.

Asuka tried to remember if there was a military commission in there. Was there? Maybe. Probably. Most likely. Asuka made a mental note to ask when she had the chance. All the Evangelion units fell under the militaries of their host nations, but that didn't mean everyone connected to those units were military personnel. Kaji, for instance, had never served in uniform in his life, and he held a relatively high position in the American Nerv community.

It was all simply a matter of finding where she fit into things. At the end of the day, she was still a Pilot, there was still an organization, and she had her place in it. The faces were different, though. The location brought with it a new culture, a new way of doing things, new this, new that. She was overwhelmed with the new. She bumped her head quietly against the window, feeling the cold of the glass seep through her skin. Thinking about the new reminded her of the old. How she had made it her own. How it had gone wrong on That Day.

And how it had ended afterward. She opened her eyes, suppressing a shudder. She was smart enough to know what had happened in that week. What they had been trying to do, trying to accomplish. She knew how these things worked, and adults could be hamfisted in their temper-tantrums. And that's all it had been: a temper-tantrum, with her as the target. A tantrum that involved sensory deprivation, repeated questions in the dark, and a massive violation of her rights as an American citizen and an Evangelion Pilot, but what could be done about that? There was nothing to do. She had accepted it when it started, accepted it in the midst of the process, and still accepted it now. She had accepted it even before she had made the decision that had exiled her from the March.

Hated it, but accepted it. It was the nature of things. Acceptance was the best way she could think of to deal with it. She turned back towards the front of the car. Misato had asked her a question.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you hungry?" Misato asked agian. "I haven't eaten, and I bet you need some food."

"It would be nice," she agreed, though she wanted to sleep more than eat.

"How about some tempura? Something Japanese? Oh, better yet, steaks! I bet you could do with a steak after being out on the front for so long."

"That…does sound tempting," Asuka said.

"I'm sure Kaji would love to treat us to steaks, wouldn't you?" Misato asked, which set off a new round tense conversation. Asuka closed her eyes, tuning it out yet again, but allowing the voices to lull her into a sense of calm. Very soon, she had drifted into a light but restful sleep. She didn't dream. This was good.

* * *

The room stank of cigarettes and coffee. Smoke drifted and pooled against the ceiling tiles, staining them yellow. There was the whirring, rolling click of a film projector in the back, and numbers were counting down on the large screen, jerky and uncertain. They completed their countdown, and the image was that of black, roiling clouds, illuminated by light sources somewhere off camera. There was a strange, still quality to the image.

"Was this camera automated?" a woman asked.

"It was mounted on a forward observation vehicle," came the reply. The image panned to the right, and the light sources were finally revealed. There was _something_ burning in the distant, revealing the sharp outlines of humanoid, somewhat humanoid, and decidedly-not humanoid shapes clashing against each other. They were shadow puppets, playing out a Punch-and-Judy sideshow of horrors. The shadows tore into each other, and even as grainy as the image was, there was no mistaking the violence in the distance. The camera zoomed, but it revealed nothing, unable to focus on the gory battle. Unable to provide more than the black outline as stark white beams glittered in the sky, and something burned so bright. So bright.

"Here," someone said, and the camera zoomed back and panned to the left. A massive, red leg cut into the image, and then another. On the faded film, the red was muted into something coppery, like dried blood. With impressive speed, the giant pushed further into the frame, pushing towards the battle. The camera continued to pan, covering the giant's hunched back and massive, shoulder pylons.

The time ticked down as the giant surveyed the battle. A minute. Then two. Then five. It was a small eternity on the screen, in the midst of a battle, and there was something to be said about the patience displayed. Or perhaps it wasn't patience. Perhaps it was hesitance.

At five minutes and forty-one seconds, the giant raised its hands, holding them towards the distant battle. Little sparks began to appear in front of it, so small that they could be mistaken for flaws in the film. Then, the sparks became actual, defined bolts of light, defying physics and logic as they drifted slowly and ponderously in the direction of the battle. And then, there was light.

For a brief, awe-inspiring second, the frame was just white, the barely perceived outline of the giant a black smudge in the center of it. The next couple of frames were gray and blue, the film having been unable to adequately record the bright light and being irreparably damaged under the intense exposure. When clear images finally returned, the world was slowly but surely spinning, end over end, as the ground and the sky exchanged places in an almost polite manner. Then, the image cut with unnerving suddenness.

The entire film had been silent, save for the few comments and the rhythmic click of the projector. Without prompting, the lights came on. The occupants of the room turned towards each other as the technician fiddled with the projector in the back. The blond-haired woman present flicked some ash off of her cigarette. "I've seen it, and I still don't believe it," she said. "How powerful was the blast?"

"Any instruments trained on the area were unable to register it. It was that powerful," the oldest of the two men said.

"Good God."

"God had nothing to do with it," the younger man said, flicking his thumb against his forefinger in an agitated manner. "I predicted that the AT-field capabilities of the older Evas would far exceed anything humanity could conceive of."

"That just sounds like a boast," the woman teased.

"It was. That doesn't make it inaccurate," Gendo Ikari replied. The flicking stopped. "With that imagery, it's going to be harder than ever to prevent them from allowing the Mark One on the field. And with the Mark One finally deployed, and the Mark Two working in support, we might…we _might_…be able to begin an expedition to the heart of the Zone."

"That's getting ahead of yourself," the older man warned.

"That's the point of the entire project, and it's what we've waited _years_ for," Gendo retorted. "And now we have the chance. Two of the strongest Evangelions in the world, in Japan, at the same time. And my contacts in the SDF have hinted that there may be a request for assistance from the Chinese."

"For what?"

"Who knows? Perhaps they need to scale back their forces, or redeploy them. Perhaps another corridor is forming, or one of their First Generational Pilots has become unreliable or questionable: I could see that happening with Li Qinqin, it's why they have her on the Gobi March. Whichever reason comes, we must be ready to make the most of that opportunity."

"Which means we need to speed up the timetable on the drones," Ritsuko Akagi noted, stubbing her cigarette and running a finger through her hair. "I'm going to be busy."

"Yes, you will be," Gendo agreed, without sympathy. She rolled her eyes and stood.

"I see how it is. Fine. I'll get some projections for you on how much we'll need to devote to get them up and running on time. Expect them tomorrow at noon."

"That'll be fine." Akagi knew she was dismissed.

When she had left, the technician following behind her, the older man turned towards Gendo, leaning towards him in a conspiratorial manner. "There were Evas at the end of that blast," Kozo Fuyutsuki said.

"Yes."

"How many?"

"The final tally: five Greater Angels, eight Great Angels, assorted lesser entities numbering perhaps…fifty…and seven Second Generation Evas, thirteen Third Generation Evas, and their Pilots, and thirty-seven soldiers in the area for the forward observation unit." Gendo removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, still strained from studying the screen in the dark. "The Evas were all from the Second Frontier Guards Unit, the observers were from the attached 113th Rifles Guard. The report made a point of saying that."

"All Soviet casualties."

"Oh, yes," Gendo said. "All Soviets."

"What exactly happened?" Fuyutsuki asked.

"It seems a combination of bad decisions," Gendo explained. "The Soviets detected this choir early, but only dispatched four Third Gens to deal with it. I have no idea why that decision was made, and my contacts in their military are just as bewildered. When they encountered greater numbers than expected, the last remaining one was able to send a request for assistance, which was answered by no less than thirty Evas, and it was still a close fought match."

"When did they finally deploy the Mark Two?"

"They never _did_ deploy the Mark Two: Pilot Soryu deployed herself. Apparently destroyed a good portion of the Mark Two's berthing bay in the process. The records are garbled, but it seems the Soviets had made a point of refusing to accept the Mark Two's assistance, and the Americans decided to let them choke on it. And refused to deploy even when it was clear that it was needed."

"So Soryu took matters into her own hands?" Fuyutsuki asked.

"Yes. What you don't see on that film are the Evas that got away: she had been broadcasting a general retreat for the ten minutes prior."

"That's why she waited…she was waiting for them to clear the area."

"And when they were unable to, she made a choice. And a lot of people are dead because of that. Fifty-seven. And that's not counting the injuries."

"Injuries?"

"The Soviets only released fatalities, though I can make a conservative guess that maybe…one hundred? Two hundred? Between people blinded from looking at the AT Field discharge to injuries from the blowback, as well as those hurt when Soryu broke out of the berth…well, it's quite the tally."

"You keep saying 'appears.' It 'appears' that the Americans did this, and it 'seems' the Soviets did that."

"You know as well as I do that we have to piece this stuff together. The actual orders are still sealed and classified, and a good portion of the transcripts that have been released are heavily edited. At the source."

"Someone is trying to cover themselves," Fuyutsuki noted, lighting a cigarette himself.

"_Two _someones at least. There were poor command decisions made on the Soviet end, and a very clear decision made by the Americans to exacerbate that decision. I'd wager that the command teams on site made stupid decisions for whatever reasons, and that they are pointing their fingers at Asuka together to try and avoid the chop from up above."

"It bothers me that, after a long history of relying on the Mark Two to clean up their messes, they suddenly both decide that this would be the day it would stay home." He pulled at his lip. "Are there any other American Evas at Ural Central Post?"

"No. Only the Mark Two, and that was a big diplomatic concession. The Soviets don't like foreign military missions in their territory, even though it currently contains the Zone of Seclusion," Gendo said. "National pride and all that."

"Is it true, what they're saying? About the Mark Five?" Fuyutsuki asked.

"It'll be true when it happens, but I'm inclined to think that it will."

"…You're hiding something."

"You'll have to be specific."

"You know something or other about what happened at Ural Central Post."

"I have…a suspicion," Gendo ventured.

"Well, out with it," Fuyutsuki said, gently. Gendo took one of the older man's expensive cigarettes as toll.

"I think it might have to do with a fellow named Kihl."

"I don't know that name."

"Lorenz Kihl?"

"…The 'Lorenz' does ring a bell. Oh, wait…that big fellow, the German? At the conference in…was it '82?"

"That would be him," Gendo confirmed.

"You think he had a hand in this? Somehow?"

"It's possible. It doesn't exactly have his fingerprints on it, but the deployment of the Mark Five is too neat a coincidence. Either he engineered circumstances, or he simply knows how to take advantage of a situation."

"And how would a man like him see deploying a strategic asset as 'advantageous?'" Gendo gave Fuyutsuki a knowing look, and the older man nodded. "Oh. I see. So, now it's a race."

"It would appear so. And we haven't even left the gate yet. It's irrelevant, I think…between having the Mark One, the Source, and the weapons technology we have, catching up will be child's play."

"Don't be overconfident," Fuyutsuki warned.

"Me? Never," Gendo replied, looking at the blank screen.

* * *

**Notes from GobHobblin: **Passive voice is the most infuriating, evil creation of the English language. I have to fight really hard to excise it from the larger body of the text, though I tend to leave it in dialogue (because, realistically, very few people will realize when they're speaking in passive voice, and there are even fewer who would actually care about it). Despite that, it irritates me so much whenever I see it in text.


	5. The Night After

It was a recurring dream for Shinji. It involved the salt flats. The Salt Flats, the long and deep stretching away from fingers and toes over to the egg blue horizon. The clouds were wispy, like cotton banners streaked across a mat. His bare feet cut against the salt. The salt was in him, and he was of the salt, and this was a good thing. He liked this thing, he had decided upon his first visit. Each visit brought a new cut, and a new sting through the soles of his feet. Slowly, he would begin to walk. There was no sign of where he should go. The sun was in the very center of the sky, a silver orb that reflected up from the flat, white as snow and burning, a floodlight from the ground to the air. There was no east, nor west. North and south were foreign concepts, and the only real was the Up, the Down, the Forwards, and the Backwards, with Left and Right making cursory appearances when the fancy struck them.

He knew where to walk. He always knew. It was forward. You walked forward, and you would find what you're looking for. This was self-evident, and he followed the rhythm to its logical conclusion. You walk forward. Walk forward.

And so he would walk, his bare feet cutting into the sand, the sun burning could on his bare shoulders, the non-existent wind kissing against his bare stomach. He was laid bare. He was bare. There was no hiding in this place. That was refreshing.

Sometimes, this was all that the dream was. Just this forward momentum with no real end in sight. He would wake up, and his calves would hurt as though he had been marching the entire time. Sometimes, however, there would be a shimmer in the distance, the faint inkling of a hazy shape wriggling like a worm on a hook. It would refuse to actually take substance, no matter how close Shinji seemed to get to it. It was always there, always elusive. Sometimes, it felt like there were colors prancing around it. Sometimes it was red. Other times it was blue. Sometimes silver, or black, or brown. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason as to what color would dominate his dreams for that night, but where there was a shape, there was a color.

What was the True Color, under the haze? What was the True Shape?

Tonight, though, something odd happened. The wind, once no more than a pleasant kiss, had a force, a presence. It seemed to push Shinji forward, and he felt prickles across his back as salt caught on the wind, probed his skin for weakness. It scourged him as he advanced on the shape. He drove forward, insistent, trembling, feeling that, tonight…tonight…tonight it would happen. He would catch the mirage. He would perceive the Shape. The Form. He would know what it was all for.

And then the wind reversed, and tripled. He cried out as the salt pushed into him, threw his arms across his face as his eyes began to sting from the salt. The salt was everywhere. He felt to his knees and gasped as they cut into the salt.

The salt was everywhere. It filled his nostrils, his mouth. It carved him, shaved him away to viscera, to sinew, to dust. The salt was everywhere.

* * *

He rolled over in the bed. The cotton sheets felt pleasantly warm. He panicked, thinking he had forgotten something important. He sat up, and looked around. He was in the Okinawa house. The retreat. He was in his bed-room, sitting in an undershirt and shorts. He heard rustling in the front of the house. He remembered. He had gone to bed early. He glanced at the clock.

It was only 22:30. He hadn't been asleep for very long, and already he had drifted deep enough for a dream. He yawned, and rubbed his eyes. It was rare for him to sleep without a dream, and his dreams were always vivid. The recurring one was the most common, the salt flats. It was not the only one, nor the only recurring one. It lingered with him, though.

The rustling continued. He pulled on his pants, and thought to summon Rei. It was really her job to deal with intruders, but he thought against it. He had a hunch it _was_ Rei, and if it wasn't, then he could deal with this himself. Probably.

There was a pistol in the drawer, a small .22. It was a deceptive thing: the bullets were hollow-points filled with an explosive resin. Each bullet could leave a fist-sized hole in whatever they struck. He always left it unloaded, a bad habit but one he never really felt the urge to change. He inserted a magazine, chambered a round, and slid the door open, slipping into the hallway. The house was a curious mix of Japanese aesthetics with Western styling, something an American officer had built during the Korean War. The weird fusion of two, distinct styles often left visitors with a queasy feeling, the sense of being trapped in two places that could not decide upon themselves. Shinji liked that. It helped things immensely when your guests were pushed out of their comfort zone. You learned things about people that way. Learned things that were useful.

He padded barefoot and silent over the cool, polished wood floor, not really making an effort to be tactical or silent. The pistol hung limp at his side, almost forgotten as he scanned the house, followed the rustling. It led him to the front room with the chairs facing the ocean. The room was dark save for a lamp, and the shadows of the ocean beyond the large window seemed to move like ink behind a screen. Kneeling at the table in the center of the room, Rei had a pistol disassembled on the table. She was cleaning each piece carefully, dabbing oil on a cloth and working it over the pieces.

She froze, and turned as though caught doing something dirty. She sat very still, staring at Shinji. "What are you doing?" he asked, though it was obvious.

"I was…unable to sleep," she said. He didn't reply, and she gestured to the pistol. "Is there something you need, Shinji-sama?"

"You should go to bed."

"It's no trouble…."

"I didn't say it was." The silence that stretched between them became uncomfortable. Shinji gazed over Rei's head, looking at the ocean, while she kept a bland, blank expression. The phone rang, and she stood and went to answer it. Shinji waited patiently, hearing her speak politely to the caller. A thank you. She returned.

"The American girl has been berthed down in temporary quarters near Nerv Plaza One. She arrived without incident."

"I'm guessing that she's at the Hyatt."

"Yes, Shinji-sama. They booked a whole wing for security purposes. I imagine that they turned out the guests already occupying it." She began to reassemble her pistol, and paused. Shinji wasn't watching her, so he did not note the faint tremor in her fingers, as she gathered together her courage to attempt small talk. She swallowed. "It surprises me how much they've accomplished, at the last minute."

"Someone would have been planning for this without telling anyone else. It's always best to keep your plans a secret until the last second, even from your allies. It leaves your opponents without room to maneuver." He turned and yawned. "That's self-evident." His tone sounded distracted, but the words hurt Rei. The implication was clear: you should have known that without my explaining it.

"Yes, Shinji-sama," she said. Her tone was neutral.

She heard the click and clatter of a magazine being removed from a pistol, and a round ejected. "Schedule a return to Tokyo, first thing in the morning."

"Yes, Shinji-sama." The pistol pieces flew together in her fingers, taking the form and function they were meant to carry.

"After that, go to sleep, I'll need you sharp for tomorrow."

"Yes, Shinji-sama." He turned and almost snapped at her, insisting she stop calling him that, but he stopped. He didn't care: she could call him whatever she wanted. Sometimes, he would titter back and forth between telling her to stop. He never did. He just let her. He turned and went back to bed as she contacted the head of their security team and asked them to begin making arrangements for their return. She hesitated when it came time for her to go to sleep. Instead, she went to Shinji's door, and stood there for a long time. She stared at the closed panel, and soon pressed a hand against it, as though she could absorb something of him through the panel, into her palm, into her soul. She stood there, for a long time, resisting the sleep that was creeping up on her. She didn't want to sleep. That was when the dreams came, the vivid dreams, and sometimes they were pleasant, and sometimes…they were not. She didn't know what they would be tonight. She wanted them to be pleasant. She couldn't be sure.

She could be sure of this. She could be sure of the door, and what was on the other side. She could be sure of that. And so she stood there, for a time, thinking of what lay beyond as her heart pounded and she fended off the terror that came with sleeping.

* * *

The rain was oil, filthy and slick. It was petroleum. It was acid. It was leavings and has-beens, but it wasn't water. Asuka held her hands up to her face, trying to swallow and unable to. There was something wrong with her tongue. Either it was too large or too small. It couldn't decide, and it made swallowing hard. She stared at her hands, greasy with the rain and trembling as they burned and itched. It was a mistake.

In front of her, a girl stared at Asuka, her face a mask of betrayal. She recognized the girl. Where did she recognize the girl from? She was a Pilot. She was a Pilot, that was certain. What did she Pilot? Did she Pilot a Boat? A Plane? It was important to organize these details, lest you lose track of yourself or others. If you couldn't keep track of the details, what was the point? What was the purpose?

An Eva. This girl Piloted an Eva. Her Plug Suit, that was the key. The Plug Suit with Cyrillic. Oh, that's why Asuka recognized this girl. That's why she looked betrayed.

Asuka had killed this girl.

"I couldn't get away," the girl explained. "Do you even remember me?"

"No," Asuka explained. She rubbed at her face. It felt like her hair was falling out in clumps. What was in this awful rain? "You were in the way, though. It wasn't your fault."

"I'm still dead," the girl said. "Did you even know my name?"

"Did you even care about me?" Asuka retorted. "The Russian Pilots always kept to themselves. And the Kazakhs, and the Georgians, and the Ukrainians. You had your little cliques. Where was the American one? I was an island to myself. You didn't see me complain about it."

"I'm still dead. Do you think my parents will miss me? I haven't seen them since the Motherland called for me. The Motherland needed me."

"You had both of your parents, didn't you? That was in the file they showed me. They showed me a lot of files. They hit me with them, at one point. Whap." She really wanted the rain to stop. It was inconvenient trying to have a conversation when your fingernails were falling out. The girl in front of her was falling to pieces, her skin peeling off. She seemed mildly nonplussed by it. She should be: skin was a fundamental asset in the bodily system. Without it, all sorts of things could go wrong. Nasty things could come into the system, like bacteria and germs and sinful thoughts. "They hit me with the files at one point, like that would pop the knowledge into my head. Whap, they went. Whap. You know how adults get."

"They're just children in older bodies," the girl agreed.

"You weren't a Russian. You were Tajik."

"I was told I was a Russian. We were all Soviets, and to be a Soviet was to be Russian. I think. The details are so hard to follow when you're dead."

"Why am I talking to you?" Asuka mumbled. "Why not that boy Pavel? I remember his face. He looked like a doll. He was very pretty, for a boy. I keep thinking about him."

"Maybe it's because I look like your sister. Do you talk to her?"

"About what? We haven't spoken in six years. The longer we don't speak, the less we have to speak about. And I already know there's little between us. Little to speak about, little to know. So little, so little."

The girl curled up in the muck, little more than scraps of skin and bleaching bones. "There's not much left of me. You saw to that. Even the ash was vaporized. Atomized. It's like I didn't even exist, and the moment you wake up, you won't either."

* * *

Asuka did wake up, and she continued to exist, so far as she knew. She was in the hotel room, in Tokyo. She had gotten here some time ago, after a large dinner where she had said little. She said good-nights to Kaji and Misato, and entered, and dragged some sheets and pillows into the closet. That's where she was now: she was sleeping in the closet, with the door open. If she had closed it, she would have had a panic attack, because that would have been like sitting in that room again. The room without the lights. It hadn't been very long, but the room was very small, and there wasn't a lot of space to move. She couldn't stand, couldn't sit, couldn't turn around. It wasn't a room, in retrospect. More of a box. But they called it a room, so it became a room in her mind, despite the discrepancy. She had pointed that out to her hosts after the first five hours in there. She had commented in a dry tone (dry not only because she felt sarcastic, but because she was desperately thirsty) that it wasn't a room, it was a box.

What came next was six hours. She had beaten a rhythm onto her aching thigh to gauge the time. She figured they would increase the time by an hour each time. She still wasn't entirely sure what they were doing this for. Revenge? Probably. Impetus to work for the Soviet Union, with the Mark Two confiscated? Unlikely, but…probable. It wasn't above the KGB to try such things, and expect their government to go along with it once it was done ("We've just stolen it, Comrade Secretary. Do you really expect us to _give it back_?").

Maybe a trial, perhaps. Something to salve their pride, a trial to blame the American for the loss of so many units and lives, and a neat little prison sentence with a magnanimous pardon at the end of it. The reasonable and victimized guardians of the Workers, still able to find time in the midst of their war against extinction to find justice from the evil imperialists, and showing mercy and pragmatism when they had the chance for revenge. Something like that. It _sounded_ like the sort of thing the KGB would do. They had very little experience with how the West (or the world, for that matter) functioned, a deplorable fault for an intelligence agency. Then again, when a big part of your purpose was ensuring that your country moved in lock-step to the direction you dictated, it diluted your ability to look with open eyes.

She had thought of that, in that room that was actually a box. She had thought of a lot of things, anything to keep her mind focused and from drifting into cascades of minute madnesses. She was saved from the seven-hour stint by what she could only assume were diplomatic moves beyond her level. All she knew was that she was leaving the room that was a box, being carried out of it (because her arms and legs were not functioning at this point), being cleaned up by two female army nurses (a process which, despite being rough, Asuka was quite grateful for, considering that she was very filthy at this point), and put into a clean bed. Five hours later and far too soon, someone woke her up, made her dress in some nice clothes (which would probably be the height of fashion in Leningrad), and transported her to a military airfield, where she was flown to another airfield in Turkey. The men who greeted her off of the plane spoke English with Midwestern accents and wore American suits. It was then she knew she had jumped from one fire into the next.

They wanted a debriefing: she refused to give it. She was running from That Day, running from the week that followed, running from the room that was a box, the files, the questions, the vague and shifting reasons for why what was happening was happening. Running from the dead children, the dead soldiers, everyone who had died because she had no choice. She had to act, or more would die. It was that simple. It was as simple as that.

Kaji had been in that group. He had listened to her. It was his job, of course, and he did it well. He sped up the timetable for her departure, organized alternate departure routes. The two of them planned their movement to Tokyo immediately. It had been decided two days before her release, so it was the most logical place to go. So they went.

And now here she was, lying on the floor of the closet, wrapped in sheets and blankets and dreaming about a girl that she had killed. Dreaming vividly, and a bit lucidly, she might add. With the door open, of course, lest she send herself into a claustrophobic panic attack. That was important: must not leave out details, lest they not have enough for their final report. She wanted to go to the bed, because it looked comfortable, but somehow, she knew it would be too comfortable. Maybe she still felt she needed to punish herself. Or maybe…maybe she simply wasn't ready for comfort, yet. She had slept on a hard cot for six years, after all. It was comfortable to her, but only because it was her bed. What would an actual mattress feel like?

She didn't know. She snuggled down into her sheets, exhausted. She wanted to go back to sleep, but she was afraid to. What other face would appear? What other child would ask for the reason they died?

Asuka did not know, and she did not want to answer.

* * *

Kaji slept like a dead man in the room across the hallway from Asuka's. His dreams were peaceful, if odd. He was at the beach with Misato, and they were happy, like old times. He was dreaming about her because he had just seen her again, and also because he had been truly happy when he was with her. Even if he had been unable to admit it at the time, though she hadn't realized it herself, either. They were happy now, though. They were at the edge of the ocean, and all was right. Even if Misato had hen's feet. Kaji couldn't quite figure out why that was, but it didn't bother him very much, because she was still quite pretty, and they weren't nearly as distracting as the pod of Kissingers that had begun to breach quite gracefully far out to sea.

"You people disgust me," Asuka said reproachfully.

"Go bother someone else," Kaji said, and she did. And it was the best dream ever.

* * *

Misato had an ugly dream about shapes moving in her closet. She tried to close the door, because if she couldn't keep the door closed, they would be out. They would be out, everyone would know about them, and she would have to die. She would have to die for failing like that. She woke with a mumble, reached for someone who wasn't there, and sat up, very awake. There wasn't anyone there. There never was.

She mumbled to herself, and got up to go get a glass of water. When she did, she stepped on a piece of glass from a cup she had dropped on the floor a week earlier. She had cleaned it up, she thought, but had missed this one piece, and she planted her heel on it and gasped and wailed in surprise and not a little pain as she flailed for something to hold on to. Cursing, she sat on a kitchen stool, pulled out the glass, and daubed at the wound as she dripped blood on her clean, white floor. Soon, the bleeding stopped, leaving an ugly, bruised cut. She remembered she was thirsty, and hopping around on one foot, got her glass, drank some water, and hopped back to bed. She couldn't sleep, and her foot had begun to throb. She cast furtive glances to her closet, half-expecting the dream to become real. She was irritable, and hurt, and somehow, she knew all of this, from the bad dream to the piece of glass, was Kaji's fault.


	6. Gaijin

**Notes from GobHobblin:** I felt I needed to explain why I have two capitalizations of the word 'geofront.' In one sense, it is describing the concept of the geofront, where in the other, the 'official' name of Nerv's headquarters is the 'GeoFront.' I had no way of making this clear in the passage, so I just wanted to clarify it here.

* * *

It was at least an hour before sunrise when the children gathered on the exercise field. If you looked at them, you would acknowledge that they were children, they were obviously children. They didn't act like children. There was no loud voices, no laughing. No complaining about the early time, the upcoming exercise regimen. No complaints, just muttered conversations as they stretched and readied themselves. They were already loosely arrayed in a square formation, with a short, brown-haired girl at the front. A tall, well-muscled boy wandered out of the front rank up to her. She was folded over and pushing her chest and head between her knees.

"Did you hear about the new Pilot?" he asked, his rotator cuffs crackling as he slowly spun his arms in wide, sweeping circles forward.

"Hold that thought," she said, slowly. With a deep breath, she straightened herself back to standing, letting out the air in a slow and careful puff. "What did you say?"

"The new Pilot," he asked. "Surely _you_ heard something about it."

"Now, Toji, what makes you think that?" She leaned forward and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, using him for balance as she pulled one leg up and behind her.

"Really? You haven't heard _anything_ at all, Hikari?" He sounded skeptical.

"If I did, do you think I would tell you?" she grunted, lowering the leg and stretching the other one. "Remember that 'chain of command' thing? 'Need to know?' All of that?" Toji Suzuhara slowly leaned backwards, gradually pulling Hikari off-balance. "Don't be mean," she said patiently, and he leaned forward.

"You're in the dark as well, aren't you? You just won't admit it."

"I will not admit what I do or do not know, because as your vaunted leader, it is best for the group to assume that I _do_ know what's going on. Do you think they would trust me if I didn't?"

"They might trust you if you admitted every now and then," Toji said, skeptically. The two of them had very different ideas on good command style. Both of them had their reasons, and they were good reasons. That didn't prevent them from clashing on it. "Besides, this command slot is rotating. You won't be our vaunted leader next week."

"I'll still be the unit's operation officer; that was voted on and decided. Speaking of which, have you enjoyed your temporary duty assignment?"

"…I hate paperwork."

"Makes you appreciate what I have to do, doesn't it?"

"You _love_ paperwork."

"You make it sound so awful." She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes to go. "Who's next on the rotation?"

"You don't know?"

"I have been _busy_, you know. Running the unit and all that."

"Fair enough, but that's just…wow. Hikari Horaki doesn't know something." Toji crossed his arms, looking stunned. "I am…floored, is what I am."

"Keep it up, sunshine, I'll use you as my exercise example. You didn't plan on eating today, did you?"

"It's me. I'm next in the chute," a second boy said, having appeared next to Toji as if by magic. "I heard you two talking about the new Pilot, this seemed like a good time to cut in."

"Do you know anything?" the girl asked. Kensuke Aida shrugged.

"I have some theories. Did you hear about the Mark Two?"

"What about it?"

"It's been pulled from the Urals."

"No way," Toji said.

"Why would they do that?" Hikari asked.

"No idea, but I think that something went down, and it went down bad," Kensuke said. "I bet the new Pilot is the Mark Two's."

"That's a big leap. Maybe they just withdrew it and moved it back to the States, you know? For material purposes. Crank out a few more Second Gens."

"Maybe, but the timing is too pat," Kensuke said. "No, I think the new Pilot is the Number Two in the program. It's got to be Soryu."

"She must have screwed up big time if they're sending her here," Toji reasoned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hikari asked, indignant.

"Come on, she holds the record for engagements and confirmed kills, and we all know that the Mark Two is a beast. Do you think they would pull her out if she was still doing a good job? And then send here _here_? What big deployments do we have lined up? Nah, she pissed in someone's cereal."

"Crass, but I have to agree," Kensuke murmured. "This was sudden. Last minute and all."

"How did _you_ hear about it?" Hikari asked.

"You think they can move something as big as the Mark Two and people won't talk? It's all over the Nets."

"Huh. So the Red Devil is coming here," Toji murmured. "When do you think she'll arrive?"

"Could be today. Could be a week. Hell, she might already be here," Kensuke mused.

"We can talk about this later," Hikari said, checking her watch. Without another word, Kensuke and Toji backpedaled into the front rank. Hikari raised her voice. "Fall in!"

* * *

Kaji didn't knock on Asuka's door, deciding to give her a few more hours of sleep. He went down to the lobby to grab some breakfast from the hotel restaurant, and found Asuka already down there. She had a pair of bagels in front of her, one with small bites circling it, and an English-print newspaper spread out on the table in front of her. She had that focused look she got whenever she read. He noted that when she had a book or report in front of her, she tuned the world out completely to focus on the words. He wondered if she might be dyslexic, but it was also possible that she was just an extremely intense reader. The latter was more likely: she didn't really do anything in half-measures.

He seated himself across from her. "Good morning," he said. She grunted at him. "What are you reading?"

She looked up. "What?"

"What's in the funny pages?" She blinked, glanced down, then back up.

"Um…the Bangladesh Problem. They're still trying to figure out where to move the refugees."

"It's been a decade since the country was completely inundated. I'm surprised they still can't figure out where to move everyone."

"It's a whole country's population, it's not that simple." She shook her head at him. "And you're not surprised, you know that as well as anyone."

"I do, I'm just trying to make small talk," he said. "Are you gonna eat that?" He pointed at her untouched bagel.

"Yes," she said in a surly tone.

"That's unfortunate," Kaji said, picking up the bagel and beginning to nibble on it. Asuka skewed up her face, but said nothing. She glanced down at the papers.

"Gran Colombia is at war with Venezuela again," she said.

"Do you think we can talk about something pleasant?" Kaji asked. "Here, read the comics. Don't you like comics? You're a kid, kids are supposed to like that stuff."

"I just read one about a great dane and it's family. It wasn't funny. Is that what people are supposed to find funny?" She flipped a page, the motion sharp and irritated. "I think I'd rather talk about important things, thank you very much."

"Forgive me. What is your solution, then, to ending the recent outbreak of hostilities in South America?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, you want to talk about it, so I imagine you have a solution. Please share it with me."

"Of course I don't have a solution! I just read the blurb right now. Look at it—" she held the paper up, pointing to the two paragraphs on the topic. "—there's nothing here. There's no information, how can I make a solution without information?"

"And how do you plan on implementing your solution once you have it?" Asuka said nothing in response, though she did glare at Kaji for a bit. "You are spinning your wheels," he said slowly. "Calm the hell down, eat your bagel…I'm buying you a PDA with at least twenty pre-loaded books."

"Books?" She glanced up, a curious light in her eyes. "You can load books onto PDAs?"

"Of course."

She chewed on her lip, bouncing back and forth in thought. "That's good," she said. "That's really good."

"What color do you want it?"

"Aren't they all black?"

"And gray, brown, though you find more color variety here in Japan. It's one of the primary production regions for the devices, so they go all out."

"Hmm…no funny business? You're really making that offer?"

"Sure. It'll be on Uncle Sam's dime, anyway. Call it a business expense: we can't have a Pilot who's not up to date, right?"

"Red."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I…I like red!" Asuka said, her voice irritated. "So what? It's a great color!"

"You're biased."

"Of course I'm biased!" She banged her hands on the table. "Stop irritating me and stop eating my breakfast! Why are you here?"

"Today's itinerary," Kaji said, still eating the bagel. He was already halfway done: why stop?

"Oh?" Asuka calmed down noticeably, and folded her hands in front of her face. "I'm listening."

"We meet with Maj. Katsuragi at 1030 to go over her plans on what she intends for the Mark Two," he explained.

"'Major?'"

"Yeah. Well…kind of. She's commissioned in the JSDF, but on permanent loan to Nerv-Japan, so…she's an officer, but not an officer…it's complicated." He shrugged. "Remember, the Japanese military is different from the American one. Think of it as a gendarmerie with teeth."

"I couldn't remember if she had a commission or not. I was just curious," Asuka said. "How does she prefer we address her?"

"She prefers I don't address her at all, I'm thinking, but she introduced herself as 'Misato' to you. So just Misato will be fine," Kaji said. "She's always been laid back."

"Fine. Any idea what she's thinking?"

"No, but I imagine it will be in a training capacity. Japan's Eva contingent is one of the best supplied and best produced in the world, but they don't deploy. They have no real-world experience to draw on, and all of a sudden, they have you in the country. If you actually wrote a book, it would be _the_ book on real world Eva operations."

"Ooh, goodie-goodie," she grumbled. "I get to be an _instructor_."

"Probably means you get to yell at people. A lot." She gave him a withering glare. "Won't that be fun?" Kaji ventured.

"Yeah. It'll be fun. Don't I look like I'm ready for fun?" she hissed.

* * *

The actual headquarters for Nerv-Japan was not in Tokyo proper, but rather an hour and a half by bullet train outside of the city. Further, it wasn't actually on the surface: it was part of a subterranean geofront. Originally, it was an experiment in new methods of urban arcology, considering the sudden population growth Japan was experiencing. When Nerv required a new area to test Evangelions, the geofront became the perfect spot. So, the city of the future had become one more weapons testing facility.

Asuka had heard about it, but never been there. The United States, as had the Soviet Union, conducted its tests on its models within their own territory. Asuka remembered running her Mark Two through its first paces in Alaska, not long after she had first begun bonding with it. In a way, this would be an interesting experience, she had to admit: to go the birthplace of the Evangelion.

"Misato went back last night?" Asuka asked, watching the world outside whip by in a furious blur. They sat in a semi-private cabin, across from each other. The rest of the train was quite crowded, but traveling on a Nerv account had some perks. They had enough room to stow their luggage next to them on the empty seats.

"Yeah. She actually won't be sleeping until later tonight. Two-day work periods aren't uncommon at her level."

"Or mine. Did you know I once went five days without real sleep?"

"I did. That was the outbreak in '80, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. I was ten." She went quiet for a moment, flicking her fingers in thought. "I was able to come off of the line just long enough to replace batteries and sleep while that was happening, so twenty-minute catnaps. That was a very long week."

"This is the sort of thing that will be useful to the Pilots you'll meet."

"For what point and purpose? They aren't deploying."

"Really?" Asuka turned away from the window, and gave Kaji a pointed look. He waited patiently. "You are smart enough to know what you said isn't true. The war has gone on for fourteen years, and we haven't unleashed all of our weapons."

"…Unless something happens in the next year, the weight of the Chinese vote in Nerv will prevent Japan from deploying _anywhere_," Asuka said. "Do you know something I don't?"

"I know a lot of things you don't, but no, I have no super-secret information on China's decision-making process. You are right, the Chinese have blocked Japanese intervention wherever they can get away with it. For the record, most of Asia is with them on that. Still, things can change. Fourteen years is a long time, and something has already affected the balance."

"What? Me? Being here?"

"Of course. The Mark Two, in Japan with the Mark One. Things will begin to shift, I think."

Asuka made a face. "Are you insinuating that there are other reasons for me getting sent to East Asia? Not just the leadership back home embarrassed about what happened?"

"Let me put it this way: I am still trying to sort out the exact details in who said what that lead from you ending up in an interrogation room to us here on a bullet train. All I know is was that I was told to get you from Point A to Point B and keep an eye on you afterward."

"Interesting." She tucked her chin into her hands. "Very interesting. Any theories?"

"A few…nothing worth mentioning." He smiled. "Not enough data."

"Going to pull that card on me, are you?" Asuka leaned back. "You have given me a kernel…a _mote_…of curiosity about this. It's still an exile, as far as I care."

"Say what you will. Let's wait at least until we meet with the Major."

* * *

"Too slow, Kirishima!" Hikari raged, using her right hand to grab and enlarge the overlay map floating in front of her. The icon for Kirishima's Eva finally moved to it's designated point on the line. She was taking too much time to engage targets instead of moving. "Your leaving your team's flank exposed!"

"I'm on it!" the reply came, tart and snappish. Hikari bit down a retort. She should have let the team leader handle it, but Asari was behaving way too passively. She would have to chew out the entire team later, in private. Right now, however, they just had the lane to focus on. It wasn't going poorly, but it wasn't their best lane, either. She grumbled to herself, and glanced away from the northern side of the field to the center and southern portions of the line. Those, at least, were moving in a fluid and concise manner. This was with only Second Gen Pilots, however. The way they were behaving today, factoring in Third or Fourth Gens in support would make the field look a lot messier. Not to an outside observer, of course, but to the Pilots? To Nerv? It looked ugly.

She looked up from the map, surveying the field in front of her. In the distance, she could see great flashes of light and flame as the forward line of Evas picked and attacked targets. It was expensive to fire those Pallet Guns, but the opportunity to conduct live-fire exercises came rarely. So, they had to make the most of them. Every round in their designated inventory would be fired today, one way or the other.

"Pilot Horaki," a voice chimed in, and a young woman's face appeared on screen.

"Yes, Control?"

"You are ordered to report the Ops Director immediately."

"Received and understood," she said. The image winked off, and she pulled up her executive for this mission. "Yamagishi?"

"Yes?"

"I've been recalled to Control. Transferring tactical command now."

"Understood, Hikari. Have fun talking to the Major."

"Har har," she grumbled, selecting Yamagishi's Eva from the map even as the icon turned and sprinted towards her position. She batted a few buttons that floated in the air around her, and like that, several of her channels winked off and large portions of her map vanished as the command net centered on Yamagishi's Eva. Hikari then turned and sprinted towards the western end of the GeoFront. She checked her chrono: it was 0812. "Control," she called up. "How soon does the Ops Director need to see me?"

"As soon as you're able," the young woman replied. "Take the time to shower and change if you need to, however."

"Understood. Can you inform her that after I dock, I'll be presenting myself in…let's make it twenty minutes?"

"Roger that."

After docking, she double-timed it to the locker rooms, and squirmed out of her Plug Suit. There was a special sense of violation when donning one, and removing it in a hurry just emphasized how uncomfortable it was. That was a quick and minor thing, over and forgotten in a hurry. She showered, hurried to her locker while toweling off, and grabbed her Nerv fatigue jumpsuit. She had no clue what would be proper for this meeting, but one couldn't go wrong with the fatigues. Especially not with the Major: she was hardly what one would call the epitome of military prudence. And time was of the essence. It was the quickest thing she could put on that wasn't outright civilian gear, and this didn't sound like a relaxed sort of meeting. After zipping up the front, she wrapped her hair in her towel, pulled on socks and black boots, gave her hair a last swish of the towel, and hurriedly combed it and pulled it back into two pigtails. It was a childish hairdo, but she had always worn it that way. She saw no need to change it now, and what was more: she liked it that way. It looked rather sad and wilted with her hair still wet, but who cared? It was _her_ hair.

She sprinted down out of the locker room, down the corridor, and towards the Ops Directors office. She made it with at least a minute to spare. Taking a few seconds to compose herself, she knocked on the door and heard a voice beckon her in from the other side. She let herself into the office.

"You asked to see me, Major?" she asked.

"Yes, I did. Thanks for getting here so quick," the woman said. She looked exhausted, but her voice was still chipper.

"Think nothing of it," Hikari said, closing the door behind her. She crossed the office and stood in a relaxed but respectful stance at the table. "May I sit?"

"Certainly!" Misato said. "Would like something to drink? Coffee or some water?"

"I'm fine, thanks. What's up?"

"We have a new arrival today. I know there's been rumors, but I want you to have confirmation on it," Misato explained. "I'm sorry this has been so abnormal, but the circumstances around it are…well, odd, to say the least."

"I see." Hikari, reclining in her chair. "So I guess that means it _is_ the Mark Two's Pilot? Asuka Langley Soryu?"

"Yes, indeed. How'd you figure it out?"

"Kenuske Aida had a theory," Hikari explained. "You know him."

"Always watching, always listening."

"That would be him."

"He was right. You can tell him that when you see him," Misato said with a wink. "I'm meeting with her at 1030, assuming her train isn't late."

"Why wasn't I told about this earlier?" Hikari asked.

"The entire ordeal has been…strained, to say the least. There were shenanigans involved, primarily between the CIA and the KGB."

"Ah."

"I would have told you sooner, but I wasn't really allowed to say anything until Pilot Soryu was in the facility proper. So…_technically_…I'm violating my orders right now."

"I appreciate the heads up, at least," Hikari said. "Does that mean I need to do any paperwork for processing?"

"Not exactly," Misato said. "That's what I'm doing right now. She's a First Generational Pilot, so she's technically a unit unto herself. However, I have plans for her that will involve the primary Second Gen unit, and I wanted you to be ready to tear up or adjust the training roster for the next six months or so. Not yet, of course: just be ready to."

"Sure. Can I let everyone else know?"

"I'd say wait until lunch. When do dismiss for that? 1100?"

"1130 today. It'll be a long one: we'll be back around 1330 or so. Probably closer to 1400."

"1400?" Misato blinked. "Is today a Charlie-block day?"

"Delta."

"Oh. Mmm." She rubbed her eyes. "My schedule is off. Oh, well. Let me know when you dismiss for lunch. I may ask you to bring me something."

"Sure. Is that all?"

"Who was taking the upcoming command slot?"

"Aida."

"Make sure he knows to get with me this afternoon. He should be by my office at…1500. I may or may not be here, but I want him to stick around until I am."

"Anything special?"

"No, I just wanted to give him the same talk I'm giving you, with some more details. I'll have a better idea of what the next month will look like by then, and I'll want him prepared for it. That means you and me will be having a meeting tomorrow, so be ready for that."

"Will the other op officers be there?"

"No: I have an idea I'm rolling around, but I want to keep it manageable. So, your unit is the only one I'm working with right now. Well, you and His Nibs."

Hikari snorted. "You shouldn't call him that. He wouldn't like it."

"That's why I call him that. He's so cute when he's indignant," Misato said. "That is starting to wear off, though. I'll have to think of something else to ruffle his feathers."

There was a momentary silence, as Hikari pondered the implications of 'His Nibs.' "How do you think Pilot Ikari will handle this?" she asked, cautiously. Misato smiled at the way Hikari said 'Pilot Ikari.' Hikari glanced down a bit: she always hesitated ever so slightly before saying his name. It seemed that intelligence was no ward against childish crushes.

"That's an unknown factor," Misato admitted. "He knew about the transfer before I did. It's why he's in Okinawa, right now. I imagine he's processing it." She closed her eyes. "He's not proud, and he's not exactly a narcissist, but he is…how would you describe him, Hikari?"

"Um…firm in his ways?" She drew a circle in the air. "He has a place in the world, and he knows the boundaries, I guess. Does that make sense?"

"That's actually a very good way of putting it. He doesn't like anything that challenges his understanding of things. For the most part, that's fine: he's head-and-shoulders above us on most things, but this will be another First Generational Pilot in the reserve. What's more, it's one that has a lot of real-world experience. That's going to be a sore point for him."

"Do they know each other?" Hikari asked. "Him and Pilot Soryu?"

"They met once. A while ago. I don't know the details, but it was…well, I imagine that any meeting between the two of them will be colorful, to say the least."

"That sounds…menacing."

"It should."

Hikari nodded. That raised another issue in her mind, however. "You plan on working her closely with my unit, don't you?"

"Obviously."

"Well…there may be tensions. They'll be handled, but…you know. She'll be coming in with a lot of disadvantages."

"How so?"

"For one, she's an American. Some of the Pilots are going to be sore about that. Further, she has some combat experience, so expect some inferiority complexes to pop up, and well…she is being punished, isn't she?" Hikari crossed her arms. "There are people who will interpret that as weak or damaged. She's going to be coming in with blood in the water."

"What do you think of her?" Misato asked, curiously.

"I don't: I don't know enough about her beyond her combat record. I don't have any judgments of her, if that's what you mean," she replied. "I have to meet her, first."

"I'm glad to hear that," Misato said. "Do you think you can help mitigate any tensions that might arise?"

"I can try, but a lot of that will be up to her," she pointed out.

"True. True," Misato agreed. She rubbed her eyes. "Well, that's all I can say for now. Head on over to control and oversee the remainder of the live-fire from there. Be sure to make note of who still needs work."

"Of course. If you need anything else, please let me know."

"Thank you, Hikari," Misato said, and the girl excused herself from the office.


End file.
